The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My city stank.

A once proud city that was suffused with glory, sheathed in old rumors and seeped in mystery, and renown for it’s powers that were bathed in my blood through the course of inexhaustible years, now had the fulsome stench of rotted manure. Blessed by Mother Night, enchanted to those who live within these precincts, and the strange visitors who cross the eternal desert beyond, and who explore and pass between them. Favored by Father Day, given a blanket of warmth so sweet you could bathe in it. This was still a city of wonders, and beauty.

Now, over the course of mortal years, the stench had become overpowering.

At first, it had only been scouts, and explorers. Like loathsome locusts, those damn Romans had flown into my land, and befouled it with their rotten presence. There was a power behind them, and their movements that was not to be denied. But this was my land, created from my blood, and toil through the ages. I gave birth, time and time again, to lend to its splendor, and magnificence.

Ours were Evils seeped in mythology and mystery, given the seats of Gods. I was adorned, feared, respected, worshipped, and loved by those simple mortals that I allowed within my lands. Bast, Isis, Mother of Egypt, the Temple That Walks, the Eternal One, I had many names. And all these years later, their ancestors had kept such traditions in ritual, succoring my favor.

These Romans respected nothing. They stole, they coveted and absorbed from others, making no beauty of their own. They were as diseased leeches. I could smell the taint of one of our Evils upon them. Bastards.

The world had grown, since its infancy. No longer could those such as I walk the earth in all the glory of our strangeness, throwing our power and anger across its soil. Now many of us had moved from our lands with the slow dissension of our Godhood in their simple minds, seeking to not be worshipped any longer, but to rule. Ours do not think in such small terms. Tendrils and influence spread across the great earth as their influence and power reached from the dark shadows they hid within, as they sought to conquer all like starved jackals.

I cared not for the triviality of ruling, or of the power most of my Dark Brethren and Sisters sought. This was my land. I was its Mother. I cared not for the mortals who dwelled within it; they gave me beauty in their offerings, they lived to humor me, erected monuments in my greatness, and built my cities. They cherished the land and bowed to me, and so I let them dwell there in my benevolence.

I would devour He Who Had Brought This Plight upon my land. I have to admit Ocatavian was a devious, clever sort. The numbers of his armies would be unlikely to conquer, and sway. But I knew of his successes and I was wary of how he intended to build his victory. I had watched the years pass, and I knew the minds of mortals. Their hearts and minds are simple with desire and as easy to string as a child’s toy.

That is why I was going to send the last daughter of my lineage to take control of Marc Antony. And through him, I would cut Octavian’s desire out from under him, just before I pulled his brains from his corpse before his forces, and devoured them.

I had left my sacred home in Bubastis, for this visit to Alexandria. I favored all my cities, but Bubastis was my home. Few things we Old Ones find so sacred; there I kept my most favored courtesans. There, I had the potency of Old, and I was feared and adorned, worshipped beyond reproach. Alexandria was beautiful, newer, with the art of the current age chiseled into the smooth stoned walls, and a newer flavor upon the sands about it.

Scarab had dared to fight me for Alexandria, in his conceit. He thought to betray me, and take what was mine for his own. I grinned at the memory of that Dance, and the pungent potency of the stench of his blood staining my earth.

She came to me, as soon as I had called her, falling to my feet. Her light tongue grazed my calf.

I smiled benevolently upon her. “My dear Cleopatra,” I purred, “The most beautiful of all my daughters, She Who Has Made Me Most Proud,” I cooed. “I call you to do my bidding.”

Her flawless skin turned a slow, delicious pink. “Yes, my Goddess?” She asked, huskily. “Whatever you ask of me, I shall accomplish with all my being.”

My courtesans were gathered in silence, watching from afar.

I enjoyed making each of my youthful Kittens jealous of the girl before me; it made their tongues all that more insistent and sweet. It fed them with purpose to fight for a moment to rest their sweet heads between my supple thighs.

“Among the locusts that gather, and threaten our beautiful land there is one who can easily be corrupted. Take that which I have given you,” I quietly instructed, as I leaned forward. My hand caressed her cheek, and I brought her close. She inhaled, sharply, and I felt the delightful trembling of her body. My scent always did that to her.

“Yes?” She asked, whimpering, her eyes wet, and skin aflame with desire.

It was all she could do to keep her eyes with mine, as they flickered back and forth between my thighs, and back to match my gaze. Deliciously slow, my fingertips trailed across her dusky cheek, trickling down her flawless silken skin like the lazy Nile. It meandered around her swanlike neck, as I loftily smiled at her in the pride I felt. She was the last of my line, the only one that had proven worthy to hold the ancient power of Bast within her veins, and contain it. Beyond my land, she was my greatest treasure. And so I had patiently brought her into the role of Pharaoh of my great land, so that all my designs would come to fruition.

The locusts must die.

So would the Salamander. I smelt his stink behind these movements, and this great army. He might’ve been near as old as I, but even those amongst my own age dared little to test my patience in my own Land. I did not interfere with their Lands and possessions; and I expected the same in return. Few had dared do so. And none that had, yet lived.

My touch was unlike any other, and I watched her, like a helpless kitten before her Goddess.

All right, so I did desire some power. It was divine, and pure, and I savored it more than the heart of the earth. My fingers slid over the shape of her breast, tickling the underside, before I roughly pinched her nipple.

I twisted it roughly, pulling her up by it, onto her knees and closer to me. She moaned, and her ragged breaths warmed my skin like the Sun’s caress. Eagerly, she waited, for release—for my instructions. She was always such a good, obedient daughter. Her kiss between my thighs was far sweeter than any others.

“Seduce him, wrap his mind around You, and bind him for me. The locusts will be nothing without his leadership, and prowess,” I purred, luxuriously, my calves wrapping around her bare back, and ankles locking about her willowy frame.

She mewled her assent as my words burned their way into her mind. She knew what I was doing, and it aroused her all the more. Hers was the mind I had left more untouched, than not. Her submission had been delicate and unmolested, a natural gift rather than a possession I took for my own. She reveled in her place at my feet, wallowing like a worm of the earth. It made her burn.

Pleadingly, she looked at me, unable to voice her wanton desire. She tried, but all that was elicited was a low, throaty moan of a Siren in heat. My thighs glistened with the noise. Instead, she was begging with her soft, mournful whimpers, and baited breath. Her arousal wafted through the open terrace, scenting the throne room.

My Kittens shifted uneasily, and I smiled to myself, watching them clench their thighs together in efforts to keep their places.

Turning my attention back to the matter at hand, I brought the Great River into my Voice, and brought her closer to my thighs. Again, I felt her shudder as she took me in with a heady breath, “Climax,” I forced through my voice, even as I pulled her into my flowing waters, the heat between my thighs only heightened with the lick of her precious tongue. I smiled in the potency of my land, as the assembly fell into trembling, helpless in the dark pleasures of their bodies.

I had sent her out, and I felt strong now. Everything was right again, and soon I would be feasting on Octavian’s soul. I licked my lips in anticipation, as I used the ground-flow of Egypt itself to focus my gaze through sweet Mother Night into Cleopatra’s tent.

The pure sounds of sex and the smell of sweat and lust could be tasted upon the velvet shadows that permeated the camp.

I trusted her, for she was Bound to me. It was Ocatavian that I couldn’t afford to underestimate.

This was my land. I wasn’t going to take any chances. I heard the lustful purr of my Cleopatra, bending the simple man to my tasks. The robe about my thighs fell, as I slithered back onto the floor of pillows adorning my tent. I felt the arousal in my nipples stiffen against the cloth, straining with desire. Twisting each dark nub slowly, I sighed in my own pleasures, toes curling and muscles straining as I arched backwards. The golden ring upon my finger brushed roughly against my folds, as I seeped two fingers into myself.

I was my own River, now, drowning in its warmth, descending into its sweet, endless depth.

A flicker caught my eye as I licked the sweet taste from my own fingers. Keen are the eyes of Mother Egypt who knows Mother Night more intimately than most lovers know themselves. An intruder upon the camp, and she was good.

She moved in utter silence, and with unnatural speed.

I dug my bare feet into the sand, unfulfilled and wanting, and slid off the throne of pillows I’d been lounging upon. This was unexpected. I gathered my robe about me again, and moved silently closer to the edge of my tent, for a clearer view. The girl, yes, she was a girl; I could smell her scent though she was frail and skinny, rough-hewn and small. Plain, and ordinary, the sort of girl you’d overlook easily, she was easily made for skulking and sneaking about. She looked more like a male youth than one of the Kin.

In my great years, I’ve learned not to underestimate a plain surface. Her Blood was as cold as mine, and likely just as dangerous.

She paused, and peered into the tent I’d been keeping an eye on. Distracted, she was occupied watching their lustful tryst. As I silently crept closer, I could feel my dampness against my bare thighs, a reflection and reaction to her, this intruder’s own sweetening perfume of desire.

The black slits of my eyes widened, to accommodate the veil of Mother Night, who had always been kind enough to let me see through her. The girl may have been quick, but I was Isis, Mother of Egypt, the Eternal One, The Temple That Walks. Some say I am conceited. But these names were given to me, and they are my due.

This rat was in my land, and I was hungry.

I settled only a small distance from her, with the silence of a perfect predator. Then, I let the Great River into my Voice. It could do far more than Kiss, and it flowed easily through my words. I had no patience, with those who befouled my land. Especially the other Dark Ones, the world was large enough. I should not have to tolerate their tainted footsteps upon my sands. The Power was with me, and it filled the air, a warning and demonstration, a Challenge, if she wished to take it.

I had no qualms about feasting on her soul tonight. “You taint my land, Old One, and you threaten my daughter! State your true intentions now, and I might spare your dark soul,” I spat forced into that obscene language of the locusts. My dark slit eyes narrowed the passion of my anger. I was well aware of the unnatural glow they would give off within the dark robe of Mother Night. Poised for the Great Dance, I waited for her response.